glimpses
by lilabut
Summary: a collection of random, unrelated ficlets and prompt fills - some happy, some sad.
1. miles away

prompt: I just really need to have you here right now.

* * *

><p><strong>miles away<strong>

.

Her phone rang in the dead of night. Ygritte's eyes shot open at the shrill sound, her eyes blinded by the white light that glowed in the darkness of her room. There was a moan and a mumbled _turn it off_, and in her sleepy haze, she clumsily dropped it on the ground.

She cursed the bunk bed – and that she had to sleep on top – and considered staying buried under the warm sheets. But the only two people who ever called her were Tormund and Jon, and both of them knew it was the middle of the night here, so they'd never call for no good reason. The thought alone chilled her bones, and when she crawled out from underneath the blanket, she almost didn't feel the cold of the room.

The phone was still ringing and buzzing when Ygritte's feet hit the cold stone floor. With trembling fingers, she picked it up. Her stomach flipped when she read Jon's name on the blindingly white display, and without a second thought, she slipped through the door and into the empty hallway.

_What's wrong?_ She asked straight away, not even having fully closed the door behind her. In the hallway, nothing but a flickering green lamp illuminated the darkness, and the floor was damp and even colder than inside her room. Far off, probably on the floor above them, there was shouting, and not for the first time, Ygritte wondered why she had thought this would be a good idea.

_Ygritte?_ Jon's voice sounded strangely muffled. The phone connection in this hell hole was terrible, but Ygritte had known Jon long enough to recognize each tremble and shift in his voice. Something was wrong, and he was thousands of miles away.

_Who else would it be?_ She pinned the phone between her cheek and shoulder, wrapping her arms around her chest. It was Jon's sweater she was wearing, much too large for her, and after seven months, his scent was slowly fading, nothing to distract her from the smell of dampness and decay that seeped from every crevice of this place. _What's the matter?_

_Can you come home?_ The last word hit Ygritte harder than the obvious tears Jon tried to swallow. She had never really called any place home all her life. _I need you. I just really need to have you here right now._ There it was, a sob, his voice breaking, and for a few seconds that stretched on in the darkness like years, Ygritte felt absolutely petrified.

_Jon_, she whispered. She could almost see him, the red of his eyes and the emptiness in them. _I'm a thousand miles away. I'm stuck here until March, you know that. _They had joked about it a hundred times, almost every day when he called and distracted her from the misery of this place for just ten minutes. In those precious minutes, when Ygritte stole away from the other volunteers, locked herself away in a dirty toilet stall, they made plans. How he would get on the next plane and come rescue her. It didn't really matter any more how shattered he had been when she had announced her decision to leave him for a year. With the distance between them, nothing truly mattered any more.

Ygritte felt her legs begin to tremble from the cold, and she cursed herself for not at least grabbing a coat on the way out. The window down the hall was broken, glass shattered from an attack last week, and she could still hear the screams and feel the warmth of someone else's blood on her hands. It became harder and harder to wipe away the memory when Jon choked trembling words into her ear.

When he finished, Ygritte had slumped down onto the icy ground, back pressed against the rough stone wall, legs tucked into her chest, not caring for the dampness that crept beneath her clothes and bit her skin. Tears were gathering in her own eyes, the wetness burning in the cold and harsh wind blowing in through the broken window.

Robb was gone. Robb was dead.

On the other end of the line, Jon was begging her to come home, to come back to him, because it was silly and stupid to break up in the first place just because she decided to travel halfway across the world, and how they never really broke up anyway because he called her every day since then and it never changed, this thing they have always had. That he loved her all the same. _I need you. Please._

The memory of sticky, warm blood on her hands haunted her all the more, and Ygritte wiped away a warm tear. _I can't, Jon. I can't leave now._

What she could not say was _I want to._


	2. in the end

prompt: it's okay to cry.

* * *

><p><strong>in the end<strong>

.

This is far from the first time they have broken up. But this time it feels different. It's quiet. The silly argument is long forgotten by the time Jon steps out of the plain grey door into the warm summer's night. Across his shoulder, he has slung a small bag with the most essential of his things. He finds little joy in the warm breeze and the faint orange glow of the sun that refuses to go down entirely during these precious months of the year.

In a haste, he has packed his things, and as he slips into his car, he remembers that he forgot to pack his toothbrush. But right now, he has no intention of going back up, and so he lets the engine roar to life, carelessly throws the bag over his shoulder onto the back seat. From his peripheral vision, he can see Ygritte's sweater which she has left there yesterday (he can not phantom how they went from a carefree, wonderful day at the shore of a crystal clear lake to this, can still hear her laughter and feel her hands in his, her lips on his), and the sight makes him both angry and sad.

They do not talk for a week, and it is yet another reason why this is different. Usually, one of them eventually gives in after a few days, calls to apologize, to ask the other to come back. But Jon lays awake on Robb's couch night after night, his phone in his hand, waiting, waiting for nothing and everything. He can't do it, stares at her number for hours until sleep finally takes over.

Every fibre of his body misses her, but to make the call is an act that requires too much strength, a courage he suddenly can not find in himself any more.

It's not until two days later that he walks back into their flat, and the awkward conversation between him and Ygritte breaks Jon's heart. All the ease is gone, washed away by the scraping of time. Desperately, he tries to remember when things have begun to fall apart, but even through the haze of fights and shouts, all the glorious moments stand out. They shine brightly in his memory, the kisses and smiles, the bickering, the unwavering trust, the touches.

She stands in the doorway in her pyjamas – no, they're _his_, he notices, and he looks away immediately – and watches him as he grabs stuff from their closet. He's run out of clothes days ago, but Robb has more than enough, and while his brother kept urging him to go back and fix things, he wouldn't deny Jon a fresh shirt.

She asks hesitant questions about where he's staying, how he's been doing, and he asks the same in return. But the two of them know each other too well to buy any lies, and so neither of them even attempts to make the other believe they have been fine.

It is not at all like all the other times in the past, when they have fallen back into each other's arms and forgotten all about what had torn them apart in the first place. Jon keeps stuffing his clothes into his bag, and he wants to crush the part inside of him that wants to leave, to get away from the tension and sadness clinging to the air in this place. Their place. Everything is theirs, they have made it their own over the years, and he would not know where to start differentiating what is his and what is hers.

Even the thought of finding a place of his own scares Jon, makes him feel a chill despite the warmth of summer. He can hardly remember a life without Ygritte in it. In all the years that lay behind him, she is there, everywhere. Ever since that day she had nearly run him over with her car, and yelled at him for not paying attention.

To find a new place, to even look for one, would mean that this time, it is really over. That the time they were given has passed. He can't stay with Robb and Talisa forever, and he can not, in his heart, find the desire to return here when all seems changed.

He needs to find a new place.

It really _is_ over.

But he desperately does not want it to be.

It is all too much, and with a sigh, he sinks down onto the floor, back propped up against the bed they have shared for so long. Quietly, Ygritte watches him for a while longer, as if she has no clue what to say. If he is being honest, neither does he, and so he continues the pattern of silence, even when she slowly sits down next to him.

She crossed her legs beneath her, and shivers run down his spine when her knee bumps into his thigh. When once her touch had comforted him, it now only makes him more anxious, more aware of everything that has gone wrong, all the cracks they neglected and are now unable to fix. _So, this is it?_ he asks eventually, avoiding her eyes. Earlier, when she had opened the door, he had seen the dark circles under her eyes. He wants to remember a different Ygritte. One who was smiling, or even yelling at him with fire in her eyes.

She shrugs. _I guess._ Her words indicate indifference, but in the way they are spoken, Jon can hear the pain she tries to hide – she has always tried to hide her pain, even more than him.

_I don't want that._ His voice trembles when he speaks, and he can no longer fight it. Looking up, he sees her blue eyes staring at him with a profound sadness. There is no anger, just pain.

_Might be best_,Ygritte murmurs, nervously kneading her hands in her lap. His pants are much too big for her, tied at her hips with a lazy knot, and he wants so badly to reach out and calm her down. Still, nothing can soothe his own pain, and he has no clue what to do, so his own hands remain immobile on the floor by his sides.

Her words cut deep, but they also allow for thoughts to shyly grow in his mind. Thoughts of a life without her. How different the past would have been. How uncertain his future. _Do you really believe that?_

_I don't know any more than you do_, she replies, nothing but a whisper now, and even through the quiet words he can hear the unmistakable sound of unshed tears. His eyes hold her gaze, and he is surprised she does not try to look away. If this is to be their last fight, she would be the winner. A victory that would go uncelebrated.

Jon feels tears burning in his own eyes, but he ignores the pain. The only thing that matters are the crystal clear drops in Ygritte's eyes, making them shine in a morbidly beautiful way. _It's okay to cry_, he whispers carefully as his hand finally reaches out and finds her own.

She does, and the sight breaks what little of his heart is left unscathed. Every single one of her limbs seems to shake when she sinks into his arms, and he wraps her up so tightly he is sure she must be in pain. But he just needs to hold her one last time – it has only ever been her who kept him together, and for one last time, they can be that for each other.

Her warm tears soak his shirt, and he can still hear her pained sobs when he carries his bag out of the door an hour later, salty trails drying on his own flushed cheeks.

It isn't for the better. But it _is_ over.


	3. the fox

prompt: you're not useless.

* * *

><p><strong>the fox<br>**

.

One day, he would kill Thorne, Jon knew it. And judging by the flush on his cheeks, the violent drumming of his heart against his ribs, his tightly clenched fists and the loud bang of the front door as he slammed it shut behind him, that day would come sooner rather than later.

_Easy there, you just repaired the lock_, Ygritte complained, shouting from the hidden corner around a crumbling brick wall that hid their kitchen from view. Music was blasting from the stereo, and Jon rolled his eyes, dumping his keys on the littered table by the door. He didn't recognize the song, and neither did he care for it now. The smell of cheese was spreading rapidly through the tiny flat they shared, but not even that could wipe the angry pout off Jon's face.

With her cheeks and ears tinted pink - a sight he might have thought adorable had he not been in such a tremendously foul mood - Ygritte stretched her head around the brick wall. _What's the matter with you?_ she asked, licking the backside of a spoon, covered in molten cheese. Oddly enough, especially compared with Jon's foul mood, she seemed rather cheerful.

_Thorne got elected again_, Jon mumbled, pushing off his coat and dumping it on the back of the leather sofa. He wondered briefly if the ugly fox shaped cushion was a new addition to the rapidly growing number of them that made it harder and harder for him to actually find a proper place to sit, but the thought only lasted a second before it was wiped away by the anger of today's events once more.

The third time. Thorne had been elected for the third time, and this time, Jon was not going to stand by and do nothing.

_Oh_, Ygritte sighed, briefly disappearing behind the brick wall before re-emerging, wiping her hands on her jeans. Jon did not look at her until her strangely warm fingers found his cheek and gently, but with determination, pulled his head towards her. _I'm sorry_. Her lips found his for a fleeting moment, the gentle touch almost enough to extinguish the rage burning inside of him. Almost.

_He's going to hate me even more now that I went up against him_, he sighed, running his hand through his hair. For the last two years, he had chewed on the idea of putting himself up for the election. The prospect of being Lord Commander frightened him more than anything, but he knew he did not want to go on patrol for the rest of his life, and there was no one in the entire Night's Watch as undeserving of the post as Alliser Thorne.

_You can't all take his shit_, Ygritte said, pulling him down onto the sofa. _Someone needs to stand up to him, and that might as well be you. _

_He still won_. Candles were flickering on the coffee table, a pile of magazines dumped on a stack of book he had put there the night before. They should probably tidy up the place - it felt as messy as his life, and Jon could hardly fight the urge to smash something against the wall. It might help, but it was hardly fair. Ygritte had only ever supported him, even if the promotion meant longer hours and even less time they could spend together.

_Yeah, I'm sure it's because lots of people actually _voted_ for him_, she replied with raised eyebrows, and Jon knew they were thinking the same. Thorne might not be entirely unqualified, but his manners and character had not lead to the making of many friends or admirers. The fact that he had held the post since Commander Mormont's death was a riddle Jon was all too eager to solve.

He groaned, throwing his hands in the air as he sank back into the ridiculous pile of cushions. He felt a crocheted flower digging into his back. _I'm such a useless pile of shit._

Jon did not curse often, and Ygritte's blue eyes widened a little bit at his words. _What are you going on about now?_ she asked, folding her legs beneath her, fingers toying with the ears of the fox shaped cushion Jon had noticed earlier. He now was pretty sure it was new - they were going to have to talk about that at some point.

_I can't even make it to Lord Commander_, he sighed, staring at the coffee stain on his jeans. _Not even against a man like __Alliser__ Thorne. Nobody likes him, he's a terrible person, he shouldn't have the post._

For a few seconds, Ygritte remained quiet. The music still blared a little too loudly in the small space, and the heat of the late summer combined with that of the cooking made the room almost unbearably stuffy. Eventually, she reached out her hand to grasp his. Even through he scar tissue, he felt her soft and reassuring touch, the circles that her thumb drew into his skin. _Are we still talking about the fact that Thorne won the election - and we both know that wasn't a fair election, the guy's dirty - or the fact that you lost?_

He thought about the brief notion of becoming Lord Commander. Of being in charge. Thoughts of Robb rushed through his mind, too. Head of the family company after their father's death, rich, influential, respected, successful. He thought of Sansa and her marriage to one of the richest man in the country, of her charities. He thought of Arya and her studies abroad, of Bran who made the most of all his misfortunes. Even Rickon, fighting to make a name for himself in the shadows cast by all his older siblings. And here he was, the bastard, the son nobody ever talked about. _I don't know._

Suddenly, Ygritte was a lot closer to him than he had thought, and when her lips pressed quite urgently against his, hands grasping his face only to sink into his hair, it knocked the breath out of him. Her fingers cleverly sifted through the hair at the base of his skull, tongue teasing his lips before slipping between them, and she was pressed against him, crawling into his lap, until nothing remained between them. _You're not useless, Jon_, she whispered breathlessly when they parted, and Jon could feel her lips move against his as they formed the words, felt her warm breath against his raw skin.

_I feel like it_, he whispered, voice just as husky, his hands digging into her hips. The weight of his disappointment in himself wore him down a lot more than he had anticipated, even more than the anger and frustration. But Ygritte seemed determined to share the burden, nudging her nose against his, lips dropping a chaste kiss on his cheek.

_Not to me. Not to anyone who matters. _She kissed his other cheek. _Do you think macaroni cheese will make it better?_ she asked with a smile so wide it was contagious, but Jon still fought it, allowing his hands to roam over her back, but avoiding the determined excitement in her eyes.

_Not really_, he muttered, but already he felt the darkness pass. His eyebrows disappeared beneath the wild curls of hair that fell into his face when Ygritte trailed her lips from his cheek down towards his neck, nothing chaste about the way her lips sucked at his skin any more. The heat that cursed through his veins was instant, and without truly registering it, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Ygritte's shirt, cherishing the feeling of her soft skin, and the goosebumps left in the wake of his touch.

_Then maybe this will_, she chuckled deviously, her hands disappearing between them to unbuckle his belt, and Jon could not fight the grin any more when he flipped them over, pressing her into the sofa. Ygritte shrieked and they sent a few cushions flying down onto the floor, but neither of them cared when their clothes soon followed, and it wasn't until the smell of burnt cheese flooded the room that they broke apart.

Ygritte wrapped her arms around her knees, laughing loudly as she watched Jon running to the kitchen - butt-naked and cursing under his breath.

What a miserable day it had been, but it ended with a long string of smiles, and most importantly, he finally felt like he was _enough_. Even thought they had to order pizza in the end.


	4. last night, this morning

prompt: meeting at a party whilst drunk AU

* * *

><p><strong>last night, this morning<strong>

**.**

If there weren't about eighty witnesses cramped into their tiny flat, Ygritte is sure she'd have killed Val by now for inviting them all in the first place.

The music is blasting loudly from the speakers, but still almost drowned by the chatter and growling of the crowd. She knows less than half of them, and wonders where Val has even met all the others. Usually, the large number of nameless guys who'd hardly remember her in the morning would have been a welcome distraction, but tonight, all Ygritte is warming up to is the bottle of vodka around which her fingers are now tightly curled.

_Piss off_, she grumbles when Orell begins to sit down on the couch by her side, and he shoots her a vile glare before marching off with crossed arms. Looking down at the bottle, she laughs at herself. She's a lot more drunk than she's been in a while, and only now realizes that she never even bothered to take off her pyjama bottoms - or maybe she has realized it before and forgot, she hasn't really got a clue.

_Hey there_, some gruff voice whispers damply into the side of her neck, and Ygritte is on her feet so quickly that she sees stars in front of her eyes. She laughs at that, too, sticking out her tongue at the guy in the green shirt, who looks as though he'd been trying his luck with every other girl in the room.

_Not interested_, she quips, turning on her feet - where did her shoes go? - and marching off through the crowd, bottle clasped tightly in her hand. Somehow, she ends up in the hallway, not nearly as crowded, and with a sigh, she leans against the closed door of her room.

Just as she's about to disappear in there - quite determined to finish that bottle and sleep until next Friday - she notices someone sitting on the floor just by the front door, a whole array of white plastic cups forming a neat line in front of his crossed legs. With unsteady feet, she walks over there.

_You look like shit_, she declares when she stands right in front of him, nothing between her bare feet and his knees than the line of empty plastic cups. _And you're also kinda hot_. He is, all black curls and grey eyes, and she can't help herself as she follows the exposed skin of his arms where he has bunched up his black sleeves.

_Thanks_, he mutters, looking back down to align another cup.

_Did you drink all of those? _Ygritte asks, plopping down on the ground next to him with her fingers fumbling towards the cups. _Cause you really shouldn't. How old are you?_

The look he throws her reminds her of those puppy pictures online, or a terrified deer in the headlights, she's not quite sure.

_Old enough._

_I'm Ygritte_, she declares, holding her bottle out towards him. _I live here._

Reluctantly, he bumps his still filled cup against her bottle, and both of them take a large gulp of their drinks. She never liked the taste of it, but to all seven hells with it.

_I thought Val lived here_. He's already putting the now empty cup down next to the others, and Ygritte wonders if he's just drunk or really that dull.

_Yeah, she does. Never pays her rent on time, though, she who knows how long she'll stay._ Her fingers toy with the rim of one of the cups, and she throws Jon a bright smile. He looks as miserable as ever, and she's starting to think it might either be the most challenging or frustration mission to try and wipe that grim look off his face. _You have a name?_

_Jon_, he says curtly, his eyes following the movement of her finger as it continues playing with the cup.

_Did you fuck Val?_ He nearly chokes on his own breath, coughing violently as he stares at her. _Or why are you here?_

_I came with her_, he says, nodding in the direction of the kitchen door.

_The Targaryen girl?_ Ygritte asks, quite impressed if she's being honest with herself (she'd never cared much for that girl, couldn't even really remember her name, although the vodka might be to blame for that, but Val had insisted on inviting her - _she'll bring some of her friends, I need to meet new people_). _She your girlfriend?_

_Just a friend_, Jon replies, eyes falling back to the ground, and Ygritte giggles when she sees the blush that is creeping into his pale cheeks, visible even under his dark stubble.

_You want her to be your girlfriend, though, right?_ She nudges his ribs with her elbows, craning her head so that he can't escape her wicked grin.

_I'd rather have some of that_, he says, pointing towards the bottle in her hand.

.::

Something about him makes Ygritte wish she wasn't quite as drunk. She also really wants to fuck him, but that's not going to happen tonight. She might be drunk, but not nearly drunk enough not to notice how awkward and nervous he gets whenever she touches him, or looks at him, or says something that gets under his skin (which happens to be her greatest joy).

She does drag him into her room, though, when the vodka is gone and her legs turned numb. _Smoke your shit somewhere else, dickhead_, she yells at the creepy guy who is laying on her bed, smoking something that, judging by the smell, is not a cigarette. She shoves him out, and the door flies shut with such a bang that the key rattles to the ground.

Jon is right there next to her, a slightly dazes look on his pretty face, and Ygritte doesn't waste a second before sliding her warm palm under the front of his shirt. He draws in a sharp breath, eyes widening, and she smiles triumphantly when she feels every muscle of his stomach twitching under her touch. _You've never fucked a girl before, have you?_ she ask with a low voice, whispering the words into his ear. _I don't get it_. Her hand moves up slowly, inching towards his chest, and Jon takes a step backwards until he is stopped by the closed door. _You're a pretty lad. If you'd stop hiding in a corner the girls would claw each other's eyes out to get naked for you. _

It's kind of sweet, she thinks, how his hands hang limply by his sides, and how he swallows, the way his heart beats so violently she can literally feel it thrumming. Her lips brush across his neck, and suddenly he seems to wake up from his stupor, his hands clutching her waist just a little too tight. She doesn't care, though, cherishes the feeling, drinks it all in.

With her finger, she trails a line from his chest down to his stomach, her lips fanning across his neck and down to his collarbone. _I could teach you how to do it_, she murmurs, the tips of her fingers dropping beneath the waistband of his jeans. He groans softly at that, a sound so low she can feel it rather than hear it, and she wants to curse him for being a bloody virgin in that moment, when she greedily presses the entire length of her body against his.

_I know how to do it_, he insists, and Ygritte allows her eyes to flutter shut for a brief moment when he moves one hand to brush her hair away from her neck.

She gently bites the patch of skin where it disappears under his black shirt, grinning at the way his fingers dig into her waist a little deeper, and his other hand grasps the back of her neck. But she doesn't let him hold her, twists out of their odd, heated embrace. If she stays a second longer, she might change her mind about letting him keep his virginity - for now.

She says nothing when she walks over to her desk and grabs the first pen she can find, and the look on Jon's flushed face has her laughing out loud. Her fingers trail up from his wrist to his shoulder when she's back in front of him, and everything blurs in the dimly-lit room when she scribbles her phone number on his forearm. She hardly recognizes her own handwriting, drops the pen on the ground before leaning in closer again.

Her lips find his cheek, and she purposely brushes them much closer to his lips than necessary. For a moment, she is tempted to just screw any reserves she might have and just kiss him - and she knows exactly he wouldn't say no to her, not when he's all flushed and drifting closer. Instead, she runs her fingers down the closed door behind him until she finds the doorknob, and twists it open with one flick of her wrist. _You know nothing. _

.::

There is a voice message on her phone when she stumbles back into her room the next afternoon, wet hair wrapped in a towel and her head pounding so viciously that she considers just calling in sick and crawling right back into bed.

She curses loudly when she nearly trips over the empty bottle of vodka on the floor, and with a groan, sits down on the edge of her unmade bed. Her room still stinks, and the pyjamas she'd been wearing last night are scattered on the floor along with most of her other clothes.

_Hey, it's Jon. Ehm... from last night. You wrote your number on my arm with a green marker. I've … well, I've no idea if you even remember me, but in case you do I was - I don't know, I guess I was... I was wondering if you'd like to... you know... grab a coffee or something, sometime? Only if you want to. Ehm... so, yeah. Give me a call. Or not. _

Ygritte feels like the pathetic grin on her face might tear her head apart entirely, but she doesn't even try to suppress it.

She's definitely calling in sick today.


	5. until tomorrow

Prompt: Cop/person getting a speeding ticket AU

* * *

><p><strong>until tomorrow<strong>

**.**

_Family emergency again?_ Jon asked, and it was a real challenge to wipe the grin off his face. The woman in the car, however, didn't even try to hide her mischievous smile, and her blue eyes looked up at him with such depth that Jon felt his fingers clench into a tight fist.

Her teeth were slightly crooked, and her flaming red hair a wild mess upon her head, probably made worse by the fact that she had her windows rolled down. Jon had noticed all these things yesterday, when he had pulled her over for the first time.

Then, he had let her go with nothing but a warning after she told him about her sick father in the hospital, but even then he had suspected she was probably just playing with him the way her fingers toyed with the unlit cigarette in her hand. What did it matter, though? He wasn't even supposed to be here. Still, after the fire incident in one of the station's interrogation rooms, being put on road patrol duty seemed a lot better than suspension.

He wasn't going to let her go a second time, though.

_I'm going to need to see your papers_, he said calmly, trying very hard not to notice how pretty her smile was, or how the sunlight reflected off her hair. Something about her reminded her of that short period of time between autumn and winter, when everything was still full of bursting colours, but slowly beginning to turn cold and hard like stone.

_You saw them yesterday, pretty lad_, she quipped, her grin never fading, and she leaned comfortably back in the driver's seat of her run-down yellow car. _Do you think I changed my identity since then? I'm not a spy, you know._

_You drive like one_. She laughed at that, and Jon bit his cheek. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. At all. She was laughing at him, or with him, or whatever else - he didn't understand how she could be so calm about this, he didn't really understand her at all.

_Sorry to disappoint, pretty lad. I don't have them right now_. She bit her lip, a small movement anyone else might have ignored, but Jon was transfixed by the sight. It made this dreadful work even harder.

_I have a name_, he muttered, pointing at the printed white strip on his uniform before fumbling through his jacket for the notebook and pen he had stuffed in there at the station this morning.

_I'll just call you Officer Handsome_, she declared, propping her elbows up on the open window of her car, chin resting on her balled fists. _You going to arrest me now?_

He stared at her in disbelief. After that, he should definitely arrest her - truth be told, he should have taken her license yesterday, but he was stupid and wanted to slap himself for giving in. _Ygritte, right?_ Her smile widened when he spoke her name, the unfamiliar sound of it etched into his memory. _You're going to lose your license. I'll need to see some ID. Or have you forgotten that, too?_

Jon was aware how breathless his words sounded, no matter how hard he tried to maintain his authority. Ygritte only grinned more, as it all of this was the most tremendous fun, and he now saw the way her freckles moved when she scrunched her nose, and how strands of her hair curled loosely around her collarbone, left exposed on one side where her sweater had dropped off her shoulder.

_You could just ask me for my number, you know_. Jon furrowed his brows, not really believing that this woman was even real. He half expected Pyp and Grenn to jump out from behind the trees that lined this godforsaken road, roaring with laughter. It would be just like them to hire someone like Ygritte to crawl under his skin and irritate him this way, just to make even more fun of the fact that he had set the interrogation room on fire. But something told him that this was not what was happening. That she was as real as anything.

_I don't want your number, I want your papers_, he insisted, taking a step forward now.

_You sure about that?_ Ygritte's arm was now dangling outside of her car, her fingers drumming softly against the door. _Why haven't you handcuffed me yet?_

_Why were you going so fast?_ he asked, tired of her games, tired of this job, tired of this road, mad at everyone and everything - except her, for some reason. It drove him crazy, the way he could not look away, or mute her sharp words.

_Off the record?_ she asked, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, and Jon needed to lean in closer to even understand. The movement brought his face much too close to hers, and he could smell something spicy, yet sweet, saw the patterns of her freckles and the exact way her lips curved when she spoke. She continued when he nodded, but grinned at the roll of his eyes. _I was hoping you'd pull me over again._

Jon could feel how utterly ridiculous he must look, mouth gaping open and eyes staring blankly at her. She was too close. Way too close. If he leaned in just a bit closer - no. No. She wouldn't trick him a second time. Clearing his throat, Jon took a step back, straightening his back. _Your ID?_

She groaned in defeat, finally reached over the the empty seat next to her, fumbling through the large bag. _You're too grim_, she said as she passed him her ID, but Jon ignored her now, an achievement he was quite proud of. Still, without her, the world suddenly seemed unbearably quiet.

Five minutes later, she finally shut up about the speeding ticket he had given her (She should be more grateful, he thought, lucky that she wore him out enough to let her keep her bloody license) and tucked her ID back into her bag.

_You can go_, Jon said, feeling a unfamiliar twist in his stomach at his own words - a part of him knew exactly why, but he'd never admit it, not even to himself. _Just go slower._

Ygritte smiled again, the engine roaring to life. _I'll see you tomorrow_, she shouted over the noise, and before Jon could say anything, she drove off. For a few moments, he stood there by the side of the road. The dust of the gravel was slowly settling.

_Damn it_, he mumbled to himself, fingers grasping for the tiny piece of paper in his pocket. The one on which he had hastily scribbled her address and full name. It would only take a minute to find out her phone number once he was back at the station.

He sighed into the deafening silence of the deserted road. He was in _so_ much trouble.


	6. broken rules

**Prompt: Two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU**

* * *

><p><strong>broken rules<strong>

**.**

Jon is just about to catch a stray piece of pie crust when a fork that is not his suddenly appears and dives right in. He looks up in surprise at the woman who has plopped down on the empty chair next to his. Her hair is flaming red and cascading over her shoulders in loose curls, and his eyes follow the flowing silk of her blue dress, the freckles scattered across her pale skin and - he is pulled out of his thoughts when she stuffs his pie into her mouth. _Ehm... Excuse me?_ he asks, holding his own fork in mid-air just above the plain white plate.

The woman has a deadly serious frown on her face, but doesn't even bother to swallow the pie completely before speaking. _I was behind you in line at the buffet_, she starts, and Jon looks away from her mouth to avoid the sight of his pie disappearing there. It's a terrible idea, he realizes too late, because now his eyes are transfixed on hers, and they are the deepest shade of blue he has ever seen, and for the first time in his life he understands why some people care so much about what colour their clothes are. Her dress brings out the blue in her eyes, the tiny speckles of gold around the middle, and he swallows, almost visibly shaking his head. _You're an arse and took the last slice of pie_. She swallows then, and the bobbing of her throat pulls Jon's eyes down there. To her smooth neck, almost hidden by the length of her hair. _Didn't anyone teach you not to eat the last bits?_

She is grinning now, a pretty grin despite her slightly crooked teeth. _Sorry_, Jon mutters, catching himself wondering if her lips really are that deep shade of pink or if she is wearing lipstick.

Quick as lightening, she reaches out for more pie. The movement brings her closer, a shiver running up his spine when her silk-covered knee bumps into his thigh. She keeps it there, not bothered by it at all, it seems, chewing away on his pie. Jon feels a little lost, unsure where to look, so he fixes his eyes on the pie on his plate, the crust looking as inviting as any food ever has. _I was just going to let you eat it, cause you looked really miserable_, the woman suddenly says, and he furrows his brows when their gazes meet. _But then I thought, why does he get to be miserable _and_ eat pie when I have to be_ just _miserable?_ She shrugs her shoulders, another fork full of pie disappearing in her mouth.

Jon ignores the remark about his own state of mind - but it does make him wonder if he truly looks as miserable as he feels, or if she's just especially gifted at reading strangers expression. _You're miserable?_ he asks instead, searching for any clue on her face, but all he can see when she smiles a crooked smile is the curve of her lips, the straight bridge of her nose, her sharp jawline, her pale freckled skin against burning hair and those eyes he fears he might get lost in.

_You're the best man, right?_ Jon smiles to himself when she changes the topic, and the movement feels different. All day, he has forced out smile after smile, his cheeks burning from the exertion. Now, it seems natural and fluid, and he looks down at his lap, dull black trousers a stark contrast to her blue dress were her knee still presses into his thigh. _Nice speech earlier._

_Thanks_, he mutters, feeling the blush that's tinting his cheeks, and he quickly tries to steer them away from the subject. _You're one of the bridesmaids?_ He can't quite remember her, but all the bridesmaids are wearing this shade of blue. In this moment, as she stuffs more of his pie in her mouth, he curses himself for not paying more attention earlier during the ceremony. Had he actually opened his eyes and not been so lost in his own misery, he surely would have noticed her earlier.

_Not really something you can say no to_, she shrugs, licking apple sauce from the edge of her fork, and Jon swallows hard when her tongue peeks out. _What's your name again? Jon?_

He nods, nervously kneading his suddenly sweaty hands. _Jon Snow._

She licks her fork clean and dumps it on his now empty plate with a noisy clutter that is drowned by the crowded room, dancing people and annoying music. _I'm Ygritte._ With a wide grin she reaches out her hand, and Jon feels his stomach clench nervously as he takes it. Her grip is surprisingly strong for someone with such small hands, and her fingers feel strangely cold compared to her fiery hair and character.

_You ate all my pie_, Jon notes, eyes flickering between Ygritte's pleased expression and the empty plate, left only with stray crumbs. His stomach grumbles when he drops her hand, but not loud enough for her to hear. He's glad for it, because he gets the feeling it would earn him one hell of a remark.

_You stole it_, she quips, crossing her bare arms in front of her chest. Jon tries hard not look at what it does to the neckline of her dress, but the way her eyebrow rises when he quickly looks back at her face tells him enough to know he has been caught. _I stole it back_. It seems odd that she doesn't give a sly remark on the path of his eyes, but there is a mischievous glint in her eyes that is bursting with promises._ So, Jon Snow. Why are you so grim?_

Nervously running his fingers through his messy hair, Jon is quite sure that Ygritte has little to no idea that her question is of a much for fundamental nature than she intended it to be. He wonders how she does it, anyway. Talk to a random stranger like this, let alone steal his pie. She seems utterly at ease with the situation, sinking down comfortably in the chair, while his own heart is pounding restlessly against his ribs and he has to run his clammy palms across his thighs over and over. _I just don't like weddings_, he eventually replies, avoiding her gaze. Those deep blue eyes give him the feeling as if she could look straight into his soul and detect any lie, any omitted truth.

_Same_. Suddenly her hand is on his shoulder, fingertips digging in gently, but enough so that he can feel it through the layers of his suit. It brings her so much closer to him, and when she speaks again - just a whisper really, husky and secretive, he can feel her warm breath against his neck. _How about we're miserable together?_

The heat that flows through his veins is too much, and so Jon quickly stands up. Too quickly. He feels himself swaying, sees stars bursting brightly in front of his eyes as he stands, and without really thinking, he grabs his empty plate for leverage. _I'm just going to get more pie. _

Ygritte laughs heartily at that, looking up at him with a soft but cheeky grin. _You running away from me, Jon Snow?_

_No. Yes. Maybe._ He suddenly feels like a complete and utter fool, scrambling for words, unable to tear his eyes away from Ygritte's. They are turning bigger with each of his stuttered words, and she does that thing with her arms again, crosses them in front of her chest, and the heat wanders from his body to his cheeks. _No. _

_Now you're blushing. How sweet_, she says, lifting herself off the chair and smoothing out her long dress with pale fingers. _I best come with you. _

Jon isn't quite sure if he really had tried to run away from her, but one way or the other, she would not let him. He can still feel the burning of his blush, and is suddenly all the more glad he did not decide to shave, or he would have made an even bigger fool of himself. With determined steps, they fight their way through the crowd towards the buffet, and every now and then, their arms would brush, or his eyes fall down towards her, catching her looking up at him with a wide grin.

_Too bad I'm not the maid of honour_, Ygritte finally says when the buffet comes into sight, almost deserted now. He looks at her, feeling his brows disappearing beneath his curls. _We could've hooked up._

She says it as though she had just told him that the sun is shining outside, or that her dress is blue, like the most normal conversation two strangers at a wedding could have. But the blush on Jon's cheeks only deepens another shade, his heart beating violently as he watches her, her own eyes innocently scanning the array of cakes and pies.

_Are there rules?_ he suddenly hears himself asking, and before the words have even passed his lips, Jon wants to step on his own foot. Swallowing, he has no idea where they have even come from, but the implications of them are buzzing between him and Ygritte like electricity when she looks up. She seems just as surprised as he feels, the buffet forgotten.

A few silent moments pass between them, heavy and loaded, the tension so thick that Jon wants to grab one of the knives and slice right through it. But then Ygritte's face lights up, her eyes coming to life and her pink lips - he is sure now that she's not wearing lipstick, and it makes it all the more difficult to look away - stretch into the most devious smile.

Her hand reaches out to press into his lower back, and suddenly she is so much closer, too close, as close as before, but this time Jon stands his ground. He has started this - well, not really, she has been the one to steal his pie, but those words have slipped past his tongue, and he's going to stand by them, no point in denying them now. Ygritte moves even closer, until her lips are back at his throat, and he can feel her hand reaching for a plate next to him to give them an excuse for this position. But he can't hide the shudder than rips through his body when she murmurs into his neck once more. _None that can't be broken, Jon Snow._


End file.
